


Ceremony of Innocence

by geekpaws



Series: The Road to Vegas [1]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Gen, Rated For Violence, bigotry against ghouls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekpaws/pseuds/geekpaws
Summary: A brief look at the complicated relationship between a female Lone Wanderer and her protector, Charon, in the face of pain, bigotry, and betrayal. Formerly titled "Innocence Drowned."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally intended this to be a more fully-fleshed, fully realized story than it has turned out to be; my muse decided that it should be more of a set up, almost a vignette, for my New Vegas stories. And I've learned not to argue with my muse. She's feisty. :)

"My doctor told me that if I wanted my three score and 10, I must go to bed early, keep out of social excitements, and behave myself. You can't do that in Washington. Nobody does." -Mark Twain

 

_August 17, 2277_

Honoria Meservey stood in the daylight for the first time in her life and cried. Sunlight blinded her; the horizon, interrupted though it was with jutting bluffs and shattered highways, stretched farther away from her than the end of the longest hallway in the vault. Her eyes hurt from trying to adjust to the sudden new depth of field and the pain lanced along her skull in an instant headache.

And, also for the first time in her life, she was alone.

She stumbled to a nearby stone outcropping and sat, face in her hands, allowing herself a few minutes to weep and her eyes to adjust to the light and distance. Then she wiped her tears and forced herself to think. Where would her father have gone? And why? She checked her Pip-Boy; the radiation levels here, at least, were safe, and her health seemed stable. The map function still worked even out here, and a small marker indicated concentrations of structures that the Pip-Boy determined likely to be settlements, or at least points of interest. She struck out for the nearest one, and tried not to look back.

 

_Early 2279_

"You all right?"

Honor realized she had been standing, gazing back down the hill at the little outcropping in front of Vault 101, and she shook her head in apology. "Sorry. Just thinking about when I left there. The first time."

Unsurprisingly, Charon said nothing, but Dogmeat bumped her hand with his nose in sympathy. She smiled at them both. "Sorry."

"Apologies are unnecessary."

She clambered up the broken road to his side. "Northwest...makes sense. I'm getting damned tired of breaking up these nests. You'd think they'd get the hint that they're done and move on."

"There is no profit in moving on."

"Well, there's no profit in staying, either; we're all seeing to that pretty well." A pair of mole rats ambled up the hill in front of them, but after some careful snuffling, decided to leave them be. Honor was glad; she hated shooting the poor things just for being what they were. Happily, whatever she had learned taking care of Dogmeat seemed to have affected other animals' reactions to her-- feral dogs and mole rats no longer attacked the trio on sight. Maybe they smelled enough like Dogmeat now that the animals thought they were kin. Whatever the case, she was grateful.

"The Enclave don't give up easily," Charon growled, "or at all. Their last man will stand and die sooner than admit they've lost the capital."

Honor wrinkled her nose. "Idiots."

He almost smiled. "Agreed."

She trudged across the radiation-seared hills almost by rote, Charon at her side, Dogmeat following or bounding ahead to sniff out something to chase. She'd been up and down the Capitol Wasteland so many times, she thought she might be able to map the thing out from memory. Their intelligence-- gathered by Reilly and her crew, and supplied to Honor via the Brotherhood-- indicated an Enclave holdout somewhere near SatCom Array NW-07c. They'd been up there plenty of times before, and found the area to be a whole lot of nothing-- but then, several thriving settlements and bunkers around the wasteland were surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. "Whole lot of nothing" pretty much described the entire wasteland once outside of DC proper.

A few days, a few nights, a handful of radscorpions dispatched more or less with ease, and they reached the latest nest of vipers to eradicate. It looked unassuming, a crooked metal door implanted deep in a crevasse in a rocky outcropping, but Honor and Charon were geared for yao guai anyway. Surface appearances meant nothing-- it was whatever was deep inside that concerned them. She wished for the umpteenth time that they could have some backup on these little excursions, but she knew well enough that every peacekeeping force in the area was damned busy with other problems. She and Charon had plowed their way through plenty before, but it would be foolish not to always wish for better odds. "Dogmeat, stay here." The wolfdog whined but sat, his bushy tail thumping twice on the ground as he watched them adjust their gear. They dropped their extra packs beside him, taking only weapons, ammo, stimpaks for Honor, and irradiated water for Charon. She took point, hacking the tiny computerized panel on the door to slide it open for them.

Beyond the door, a dim corridor stretched, lit by occasional bulbs along the wall. At the end of the corridor she hacked another lock, granting them entry to the bunker proper. She slipped back into the shadows and crouched down in the blackness when she got a glimpse of the bunker, Charon following suit. She bent her head close to his to whisper. "It looks like Raven Rock."

"Implications."

"Huge. Populated. Active."

He pulled down his shotgun. "Make a stand here. Make them come to the doorway to face us, two at a time. Even the odds."

"Agreed. All kinds of agreed." She gestured him back a few yards the way they'd come, then crept into the bunker to find someone to chase her.

She could have sent Charon, but the thought didn't occur to her; it never did. She would no more risk his life to spare herself danger than she would have Reilly's, or Sydney's, or anyone else's she had fought beside. Her father had raised her to be responsible for herself. Of course, now she wondered how much of that "responsibility" and "self-reliance" he had taught her had been because he knew he was going to leave her. In the end, though, it didn't matter. She supposed she was happy enough with the daughter he had raised-- the person she had become.

She located a few inhabitants-- a scientist, a pair of soldiers in power armor, typical Enclave flunkies. She dropped one of the soldiers with a head shot, then turned and ran. She heard heavy clanging footsteps behind her. She shouldered her rifle and pulled a couple of mines from the pack at her hip. She armed one with each hand and dropped them into place as she leapt through the doorway and ran into the darkness.

She misjudged her distance and collided hard with Charon. He didn't so much as budge, but the blow winded her and knocked her onto her rump. A split second after she fell, twin blasts from behind pelted her with tiny bits of power armor and Enclave soldier. She spat dust and metallic tang from her mouth and stood up.

"Found someone, I see," Charon said. She grinned at him in the darkness.

They spent the next half hour or so picking off soldiers and officers from their darkened hallway. A few managed to get further than the door frame, but not much, and not many. To Honor's relief, this bunker seemed woefully understaffed. Maybe they were finally picking clean the Enclave's bones in the wasteland.

When the tide of overconfident soldiers finally stemmed, they headed into the complex, clearing out the ones smart enough not to face them on their chosen ground. There were enough soldiers left to keep them on their toes, but mostly they found scientists and bureaucrats, "noncombatants" who were invariably well-armed and well-trained. They gunned them down, too.

They descended a staircase to a lower level. Here the hallway narrowed and curved, with locked doors placed sporadically along the outside of the curve. Honor paused. "In Raven Rock, the prisoner detention section looked like this."

Charon nodded at the nearest door.

She smiled at him. She loved how he could convey, in such economy of movement, so much: _Open them. Take the time. See if anyone's inside you need to help. We'll do what needs done._

Or maybe she was just reading too much into his silent agreement. She forgot, sometimes, that in combat situations, he _had_ to acquiesce to whatever she wanted. The thought erased her smile as she bypassed the lock on the first door. The room was empty.

They moved on to the next, and the next. As she neared the fourth, Charon lifted his head and turned back the way they'd come. "Did you hear that?"

"No."

"Hm." He stalked back that direction.

She opened the tiny service panel on the keypad and bypassed the locking mechanism, releasing the door. It slid open to reveal a middle aged man in the restraint field. She locked eyes on him and found herself unable to move.

She heard Charon shout. "Honor. Honor!" Blasts sizzled past her head; familiar shotgun retorts answered. Her rifle hung in her hands, muzzle at her knees. She couldn't remember how to lift it.

A shot to her side knocked her from her feet and into the door jamb. She lay on the floor with the wind knocked out of her lungs, her side burning and her vision dark. She'd dropped her weapon. She slapped her hand around, searching for it by feel, finding instead rough fingers that seized her hand and waist and gathered her upright. "Ch-Charon."

"They're dead." Deft hands searched the scorched flesh of her side. "This isn't serious. You will be fine."

She nodded, concentrating harder on steadying her breathing than anything else as her vision cleared. Charon was uninjured; at least she hadn't caused him harm. He hadn't yet looked any further than her, though; in spite of his assurance, he was still fussing with her injury, injecting her carefully with one of her stimpaks. She gestured widely at the restraint field. "Charon...."

"We'll help him. We'll help them all. Catch your breath now." Even kneeling, he loomed over her, effectively keeping her on the floor and shielding her against any further surprises. She patted weakly at his shoulder in frustration. "What is it?" He turned toward the prisoner who had agitated her so, and almost looked surprised. With a last squeeze of her shoulder-- _stay here, recover, I'll take care of everything_ \-- he stood and crossed the cell in two strides. He made short work of the field generator and caught the unconscious man as he fell. He lowered him to the floor. "Dr. Meservey...how is this possible?"

Honor scooted closer and Charon helped her to her father's side. "I don't know, I don't...." She tugged up James's left arm; he still wore his Pip-Boy. She tapped the controls. "He's got a massive amount of...something...in his system. It's reading like Rad-X, but not exactly...."

"Autumn," Charon said. "When he revived, he must have dosed your father with whatever he used to save himself."

"That must be it-- he still wanted the 'secrets' to Project Purity. But why is he unconscious? I don't see any injuries or anything." She bent closer to check her father's head for swelling or cuts.

 _"Don't!"_ Her father woke and swung out at her in the same moment. Startled, she fell back onto the floor, hands braced behind her. Charon caught James's flailing arm, preventing him from hurting her or himself. James stared at him a moment, slowly focusing. "You're the...mercenary...who travels with my daughter. Aren't you?"

Charon turned his head to look at Honor.

James followed suit, and with a cry of relief seized Honor in his arms and held her tight. After a moment, Honor felt Charon's hand covering her shoulder. "There are more," he said, "I am sure of it. We should get your father to safety while we can, and return later to finish off the rest."

She nodded and helped James to his feet. He started to question her, but she held up her hand. "Charon's right. We need to leave while the path's still open."

Charon exited the cell first and Honor took rear, affording James as much protection as possible. She would reel from shock later; right now, she had to focus or risk getting shot again. Or worse....

"Get down!"

She responded instantly, instinctively now, to Charon's command, dropping to her knees and dragging James with her, her rifle swiveling over his shoulder as she searched for the source of danger. More Enclave soldiers, Hellfire troops, coming seemingly from nowhere in front of them, from hallways she and Charon had already cleared. They had to have come up from beneath the grating, but they'd looked, they'd checked--

She pushed her father flat on the floor and fired at the oncoming troops. It didn't matter how they'd evaded detection, not right now; the fact was, they had, and had to be dealt with. That was all. She and Charon whittled through them, but so slow; she loved that damned Hellfire armor when it let Charon soak up hit after hit and keep going, but hated it on the enemy. She gestured her father behind her and aimed carefully around Charon's crouched form, picking off a weakened soldier. One of his comrades grabbed him as he fell, using him as a shield and circling the perimeter of the hall junction where they fought. Of greater concern, though, two others were focusing their plasma blasts on a single point in Charon's armor, and she knew from experience that they would punch through in a matter of moments if they weren't stopped. She risked the creeping soldier's first attack to take the shot at the soldiers teaming to kill Charon.

Someone tackled her from behind and her shot went wild, burning only air. She elbowed her attacker in the face before she realized it was her father. She started to shout to him to get back, get the hell out of the line of fire and let her work, but cut herself off before she wasted the time. She re-aimed at Charon's attackers and shot one, then spun to take out the soldier now flanking them. Her shot took his head and she turned back to the two problem men. Charon had just blown the face off of one and together they killed the other. One more held position behind the dead soldiers, but he was useless against the two of them and they slaughtered him with their next shots.

As the acrid ozone smell cleared, Charon dropped his chin to his chest and took a deep breath. She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her and nodded. She rounded on her father, who was nursing a clearly broken nose. "What the hell was that?"

"I was trying to save you."

"I didn't need saving. I know what I'm doing. Most of the time." She smiled to take the sting from her words. "I made it this long, you know."

"I-- I know, Honoria. But you're all I have left in this world. I couldn't lose you. Not you, too."

She nodded her understanding and turned back around.

Charon was still on his knees.

She dropped beside him in an instant. "Charon, what's wrong? What happened?"

He looked down to his hands, clasped in front of him. He parted them and the chest plate of his armor fell away, taking seared chunks of his flesh with it. She gave a cry and began tearing off her own armor. "Hold on, you'll be all right, it's all right, I've got it--" She flung her chest and back armor at her father and stripped off her shirt. She ripped it along the seams and wrapped it around his midriff. Blood soaked through it and began dripping to the floor even as she tied it in place. He began to sway a bit as she flipped open their first aid pack and pulled out bottles of irradiated water. "Hang on, Charon. Hang on for me." She poured the water over the cloth, and over a raw hole high on his chest. It bubbled ominously under the flow of water. "Shit-- Dad, do something, help him--"

Before James could do anything, laser shots sailed over their heads. She turned on her heels and fired down the hallway at an Enclave officer. He ducked her panicked shots, but when he peeked around the corner to sight on her, she burned his head off. She turned back around to find Charon slumped, unconscious, her father holding his shoulders off the bloody floor.

Getting out of the bunker was a haze for her. She was hyper aware of Charon's weight in her hands as she supported his shoulders and head while James supported his feet, but noticed little else as they wound through the base and out into the sunlight. She blinked when she realized they were outside and a dozen yards from the bunker entrance. Dogmeat trailed after them, having abandoned guarding their gear in favor of finding out why Charon smelled of blood.

While James gathered the gear, Honor consulted her Pip-Boy map. There was damn little in the area, but some small distance away a new settlement had formed that was reputed to be fairly civilized. She hoped they had a doctor.

She also hoped it wasn't too far for Charon. One of the blasts had burned deep into his abdomen and another had punched a hole higher on his chest. The water had helped only marginally; the blood from both wounds was trying to clot but the raw edges of flesh hadn't begun to close. She cradled his head in her lap and shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun until her father returned, and they could head for the little settlement.

 

The settlement was not yet more than a few rough houses clustered near a busted road. A few had signs out front, though, proclaiming that they were businesses and a town hall. One of the buildings was marked as a clinic and Honor puffed out a breath of relief. She was even happier when they got close enough to read the name on the door-- Andrew Werther-- and her father said, "I know him. He practiced in Rivet City with Dr. Preston for awhile. He's a good doctor."

"Thank god."

The door stood open, propped with a chunk of masonry, and they settled Charon on a bench inside. James went to find Werther and Honor dropped to her knees beside Charon. He rolled his head and blinked groggily at her. "You're safe," she told him. "We're in a doctor's office."

He looked past her. "Your father...."

"He's safe, too. He's talking to the doctor."

"Mm." He closed his eyes.

She picked up one of his hands from across his chest. His pulse was weak, and that terrified her. Nothing about Charon was ever weak.

Footsteps in the doorway behind her brought her around. An elderly man stood there, gray haired and with a face that might normally be described as pleasant or even kind, but at the moment it was filled with distaste.

"Dr. Werther?"

"I don't treat shufflers."

Honor stared at Werther for a long moment, unable to believe she'd heard him correctly. "You _what?"_

He crossed his arms in front of himself. "I don't treat shufflers. Your father can recover here for as long as he wants, but you need to get that zombie out of here."

Dogmeat growled at him. She glanced at Charon. He didn't move; the hole in his side dripped blood still, defying the bandages, defying every bottle of irradiated water. Nothing she had was enough. He took a rattling breath and the bloody clot high on his rib cage spluttered, drawing air directly into his chest cavity through his ribs. She turned back to the doctor and drew her pistol.

Werther lost a lot of his smarm as he stared down the barrel of the .44 that pointed directly into his left eye. "You will treat this man," Honor told him, "as carefully and kindly as you would your own child. And believe me, your continued good health rests solely on the outcome."

"You-- you can't threaten me, and over a-- a--"

"I just did, moron," Honor snapped. "Take care of him. Now. Or I will take you apart."

 

Werther valued his life enough to do his job well, and a few hours later Charon blinked his eyes open against heavy sedation. It took him a moment to focus on her. "Honor."

She smiled at him, and it was radiant. "Hello, there."

He looked down at himself, and at Dogmeat's gray head peering over the edge of the cot. "How long...."

"Don't worry about that. We're out of the bunker, my father's safe in the other room, and you're going to be fine. That's all that matters."

"Left you to...."

"Charon," she replied sternly, "quiet. You had holes in your side I could fit both my fists in. It's all right you missed the last of the fighting. It was only one guy, anyway." She was trying to be light, but couldn't stave off a glance at the bandage around his abdomen.

"Could have left me," he scolded. _"Should_ have."

"Don't be ridiculous."

He stared back up at her for awhile, the lingering effects of the sedative still playing with him. "Thank you."

She shook off the thanks, but laid her hand gently on his bare forearm. "You don't have to thank me for not leaving you to die. Good lord, Charon, anybody would--"

"No," he said, cutting her off, "'anybody' wouldn't. You...you...." He drifted away a bit.

She chewed her bottom lip a moment. "Someone did, didn't they? Someone left you behind in a firefight." He brought his focus back to her, and she hardened. "Who was it? You tell me who it was and I'll kill the son of a bitch--"

He fumbled for her with his hand and she caught it. "Several. Over th' years. Covered escapes, too wounded t' follow, or shoot...too late now. Doesn't matter."

"It matters." She patted his hand back onto the bed. "I don't care when it happened. It will always matter."

His eyelids fluttered closed. "Mpf."

She smiled down at him, though he couldn't see. "Just rest. We'll get out of here soon." She stood to leave, but his fingers caught gently at hers.

"Thank you."

She squeezed his fingers lightly. "Of course."

"No. For everything."

She waited, but he said nothing more.

 

When next he woke, it was to find Werther injecting him with another heavy dose of Med-X and Honor sleeping half-sprawled across his right hip. Werther left without speaking, though Dogmeat growled softly at him as he passed. Once the door closed, Dogmeat dropped his head back to his front paws and let the room fall silent again.

Charon looked down at the top of Honor's head. One of her hands curled loosely on his chest and she slumped in her chair. It was not a comfortable-looking position; she must have simply fallen asleep, sitting at his bedside. He figured he should wake her so her back wouldn't stiffen. But the Med-X was hitting him, and it suddenly seemed like a great effort to lift his hand. Besides, what harm was there in letting her sleep against him? He stared at her hair, at her dull brown ponytail that draped over his stomach. Her hair was a nondescript muddy color. He thought, at that moment, he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Oh, right. That was the harm.

She was his employer. Worse still, she was a child. One who had grown up rapidly and forcibly, but a child nonetheless.

She didn't mind touching him.

She never did; she touched him casually, all the time, to get his attention or in friendly, meaningless little gestures. She'd grown up in a vault, with more inhabitants per square foot than a mole rat's warren, where it was impossible not to come in contact with others. But she'd never seen a ghoul until they'd chased her out. There were people in the wasteland who'd rather lose a hand than use it to touch a ghoul, yet she did it as if he were one of the pristine vault dwellers with whom she'd grown up.

His hand hovered over her head. He should wake her.

But what did it mean, that she didn't mind touching him?

She was kind; of course that was it. She was kind to everyone. She was kind to mole rats and yao guai. He figured she'd have been kind to deathclaws if they'd give her the same berth the rats did. Feral ghouls. She bemoaned killing feral ghouls, the poor bastards, even though it was doing them the greatest favor of their lives.

But she didn't know that. Didn't know what it was like to be like that, like them. Irreversibly irradiated. Destroyed. A ghoul. She felt sorry for them.

She felt sorry for _him._

He lowered his hand to her head. "Honor," he said, his raspy speech slurred by the painkiller.

"Uhn," she mumbled. She rolled her head forward, her forehead resting against him, her fingers digging beneath it to rub at her eyes. "What."

"You fell asleep."

She yawned. "Yeah?" She raised up and curved to one side, stretching her back. Suddenly her eyes shot wide as she remembered where they were, and why. "Oh, my god, did I hurt you?"

He blinked at her groggily. That was not the reaction he'd been expecting. "No."

She relaxed. "Good." She looked at his bandages, then into his eyes. "How are you doing?"

"Well." Seeing that this was not going to satisfy her, he continued, "Dr. Werther just administered more morphine...enough that I feel no pain."

"Hm." She nodded, thinking. "Good. He's taking me seriously."

He wondered if he should ask what she meant, but decided it took too much effort to wonder. It was easier just to stare up at her.

Abruptly she broke eye contact to fiddle with the sheets, bringing them further up his bandaged chest. "Are you warm enough? Too warm? Is there anything you need, or want, or--"

He reached out and caught her fluttering hands. "Please stop."

"Sorry."

"My eyes ache trying to watch you."

Slowly, she grinned. "Sorry. I'm-- nervous."

"I see that." He tilted his head, and she met his eyes again. "Why?"

Now she frowned. "I...I kind of want to...." She swallowed and started over. "I'm just anxious for you to be all right."

"I am all right."

"No, I mean _all_ all right. Well. Recovered." She covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled. "I was scared for you."

His turn to frown. "You don't really need me. You are quite a capable fighter."

Her head snapped up, and he would have sworn she looked angry at the compliment. "Do you think-- is that the only reason-- Charon!" And to his dismay, tears welled in her eyes.

He thought quickly, or rather, tried to; the medication was interfering severely. What had he done to offend? How should he rectify it? "What other reason would you have?" he asked finally, at a loss to understand her distress.

She looked back at him, tears still looming, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. She looked terrified. He fumbled for her hand and missed by a good six inches, but she reached for him and caught it in one of hers, her fingers curled around his thumb. For a moment neither of them moved, and then she let her other hand come up to brush through the hair at his temple. He felt his breath catch, and held it. That she held his hand at all was inappropriate enough, let alone the fact that she had not replaced her shirt and was clad from the waist up in a short tank that bared an unseemly amount of flesh...she should not be touching him with such familiarity, with...intimacy. What did she think she was doing?

Apparently she asked herself the same question, because in the next moment she bounded out of her chair and out the door without another word. Dogmeat stood as she did so, his tail wagging haltingly, and when she was gone he glanced back and forth between Charon and the empty doorway. "Go after her," Charon told him, but Dogmeat whined in reply and padded closer to the bed to lie back down.

 

At length Werther's treatment and a great deal more irradiation did their work and put Charon back on his feet. From there it was simple enough to get back to Megaton, though Honor was sorely tempted to leave at least one more body in their wake-- as it was, her treatment of Werther was so cold that she finally admitted to James that she'd had to hold a gun to the good doctor's head to force him to treat Charon. James had frowned, but not chastised; thankfully he'd spent enough of his life outside of a vault to realize that distasteful actions unfortunately did have their place in the wasteland.

Either that or he'd learned from his broken nose that arguing with his daughter was dangerous sport.

Honor found the latter explanation amusing, though she did feel dreadful for accidentally hurting him. She felt not the slightest guilt for threatening Werther.

Unlike when she had found her father in the wasteland the first time, he had no more pressing agenda than to spend time with her, answering questions-- and she had a lot of questions. She tried to word them carefully, but she still felt like it devolved into an inquisition. But she needed to know how many lies comprised her past. He assured her that he had only lied to her about being born in the vault, and that everything else had been true, that her mother had died minutes after giving birth to her, and that the nineteen years he spent in Vault 101 with her had been centered around protecting her.

"And I couldn't be more proud of you," he told her one night as they sat in her house in Megaton. "You are resourceful, intelligent, courageous-- your mother and I couldn't have hoped for more than you have become."

She ducked her head. "Well. I just did things to help people. Quinn says I can't resist a sob story."

"And who is Quinn?"

"A friend of mine. He trades in and out of Underworld. Speaking of which--" she glanced toward the front door-- "I really can't take that much credit for being resourceful and smart and courageous. If Charon hadn't been with me, most of the stuff you've heard about me wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't even have lived long enough to have the chance to fail at them." She smiled fondly. "He taught me to survive out there. I mean, it's not like I learned how to build a fire or swim living underground in a vault, now, did I?"

Her father smiled tightly. "It seems I have a very great deal to thank him for, then."

Her eyes brightened. "Would you? I worry about him sometimes."

"Really? When you just said he's the reason you're still alive?"

She scowled. "It's that damn contract of his. I'm afraid that it doesn't really let him understand how... _important_ he is to me." She ducked her head again, feeling her blush rise. "Just tell him, okay? Would you do that for me?"

James smiled again, more genuinely this time. "My dear Honoria, haven't I shown you that I would do anything for you?"

She gave him a halfhearted smile in return, but the thoughts that crossed her mind-- _anything except stay with me in the vault, anything except tell me the truth, anything except relinquishing Mother's dream of Project Purity so you could stay safe with me_ \-- she kept to herself.

 

Charon found Honor's father waiting outside for him when he came home. Dogmeat bounded up the ramp ahead of him, stopping at the little table outside the house to give James a thorough sniff; James scratched the dog's ears, but his attention was on Charon. While Dogmeat circled the patio, sniffing through the tracks of the various people who had passed by that day, Charon stopped to stand by the table.

James smiled at him and gestured at the other chair. "Please, sit."

Charon did, but said nothing. He knew the other man was uncomfortable around him, but suspected that was only partially due to him being a ghoul. He could only imagine what a man might think to find his teenaged daughter had been keeping company-- living-- with someone like him.

"I told Honoria that I owed you my thanks. She asked me to tell you directly. She credits you with her protection."

"Those are the conditions of my contract," Charon agreed.

"She says you've saved her life on more than one occasion."

He inclined his head in admission.

James stared at his own hands. "Saving her life-- is that also in your contract?"

"I protect my employer to the greatest extent possible."

"Including surrendering your own safety?"

"If it is required. Yes."

James frowned, clearly fumbling for the right words. "Would you mind if I asked you a question...um...."

Charon couldn't help himself, but did manage to keep most of the sneer out of his voice. "Man to man?"

James cringed, but replied, "Yes." After another moment of hesitation, he braved, "How old are you?"

This brought Charon up short; it was definitely not the question he'd been expecting. "Forty six."

Now it was James's turn to start, as this was clearly not the answer he'd been expecting. "Oh, I thought-- then you're remarkably young for a ghoul."

"There are a few of us." Charon resisted the urge to cross his arms in front of himself. Truth be told, he knew of three "child" ghouls-- himself, Carol's son Gob, and Tulip in Underworld. Of them, Tulip was the eldest at sixty seven, Gob the youngest at thirty nine. They tended to be viewed askance by the pre- and immediately post-war ghouls, who regarded them as either a portent that ghouls could look forward to a future generation or a horrible omen that the human race was doomed to ghoulification even after two hundred years of the radioactivity's dissipation. On top of that, two hundred year old ghouls tended to be dismissive of forty-something "youngsters." It was a combination of these attitudes-- aided and abetted by his parents' bigotry and fear-- that had passed him into the hands of the men who had turned him into what he was, and to present day he tended to guard his youth as a precious secret. With Honor's father, though, he would not lie. They had enough tension between them as it was.

"Still," James continued, oblivious to Charon's conflict, "forty six. She's only twenty. Twenty, and her experience with the opposite sex-- well, her experience with the entire human race up until a few months ago could almost be counted on both hands. I know she's had to do a lot of growing, a lot of maturing, in these past few months, but take her out of the wasteland and she's still truly just a child. A child." He managed to meet Charon's eyes with solemnity. "She is infatuated with you, you do realize?"

Charon waited a long moment before he answered. "I would not know."

"I do. I'm her father. She sees you as a hero, her savior...do you really think you are a good match for her?"

Here, Charon knew he could be absolutely honest and still take James aback. Again. "No. Of course not."

"Oh. But you're still here-- do you understand that your continued presence does nothing to discourage her feelings for you?"

Charon lifted his chin. "I could not leave her without her direct order, or without the sale of my contract."

James leaned back in his chair. "I know better than to think she could be persuaded to sell it, simply for her own good."

Allowing himself a slight smile, Charon said, "If I could be allowed a criticism of her behavior, it is that she is too willing to sacrifice her own well being for that of others. She has little sense of self-preservation."

"Hm. But you compensate for that, don't you?"

 _Someone has to,_ he thought, but years of conditioning tamped it down before it could even occur to him to say it. "That is my job." He clenched his hands, reminding himself that Honor encouraged him to speak his mind, on any subject, to anyone. "But I would do so whether she held my contract or not."

James nodded. "I understand." He stood. "Thank you again for protecting my daughter from the dangers out there." He nodded toward the town's gate before heading back inside, leaving Charon to mentally finish the sentence.

_"Though obviously not from the dangers closer to home."_

 

With some trepidation, Honor said goodbye to her father a few days later. He expressed concern at leaving her again, but Dr. Li had returned to Rivet City and he wanted both to see Project Purity and let Dr. Li know that he had survived. Honor offered to escort him but he declined, instead making arrangements to travel with Lucky Harith's caravan and telling her he didn't want to disrupt her life any more than he already had. "At least I actually got to say goodbye this time," she told Charon with a shrug as she closed the door behind him. Charon frowned, but said nothing.

The discovery of her father's survival had jarred her, but truthfully her life since leaving the vault had been one upheaval after another, and she had learned to take things in stride. She had at last, though, settled into the routine of living in Megaton, as normal a life as one found in the wasteland.

That routine included, as on this occasion, game night with her closest friends. As usual, Charon employed whatever uncanny sixth sense he had to vanish off to Gob's Saloon only moments before Riley, Sydney, and Sarah Lyons showed up at the door. Moira knocked only a minute later, producing a rare item indeed-- a complete deck of cards. "That'll just make cheating harder," Sydney said, grinning as she dealt.

Except for a tremendous streak of bad luck on Honor's part, distributing a sizable number of caps amongst her friends, the night was typical of their poker nights-- talking, drinking, and an embarrassing amount of giggling. During a particularly crude story from Sydney, a knock interrupted the festivities.

Honor still giggled a little as she crossed to the door, watching the women at the table even as she reached for the door handle; she loved watching her friends relax in safety and enjoy themselves. She swung the door open and finally turned her head to actually greet her visitor. The people at her doorstep, though, brought her up short. Her father stood there, flanked by Butch DeLoria-- which was enough of a shock-- _and Amata._ Honor just stood in the doorway and stared until Amata turned frantic eyes on James. "Please, Dr. Meservey--" She tugged at his sleeve.

Honor found her voice at last. "Ah...come in." She stood aside so the three could enter. She started to introduce them to her invited guests, but her father interrupted her after a brief nod at the women.

"Honey, Amata is in desperate need of your help. She was concerned about coming to you alone-- I know you didn't part on the best of terms."

Honor faced Amata, and whatever frustration she may have been harboring at being thrown out of the only home she'd had before Megaton melted before the suffering in Amata's eyes. "You didn't need to worry about that, Amata. I know you only did what you had to do-- what you thought was best."

Amata crumbled now, crying, and threw herself on Honor's shoulder. Honor held her awkwardly, patting her trembling back. "Honor-- telling you you couldn't come back to the vault was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do." She raised back up and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "A lot's happened, though, and-- Honor, they've taken Freddie, and I can't get him back without your help. Please, you've got to help us!"

Honor blinked. "Freddie? Who's taken him? Why?"

Amata shook her head, tears flying. "I-I don't know. They just left a holotape saying if I didn't give it to them, they'd kill him!"

Honor turned and frowned at Reilly. "Talon Company?" she hazarded. "Kidnapping a vault citizen and extorting payment from the overseer?"

"Possibly--"

"Not because she's the overseer," Butch broke in. "Because she's his wife."

"Really? I thought you couldn't stand him." Honor held up her hands to arrest the response to her own comment. "No, never mind." She crossed to her weapons and armor locker. "What is it they asked for?"

"They said you have some kind of paper they want."

"Paper?" She called over her shoulder to Sydney. "Think they believe we still have the Declaration?"

"It wasn't a declaration. Some kind of contract."

Honor froze. Her pulse raced and she felt her hands go clammy, but she forced herself to remain still. Keeping her eyes down and focused on the open locker in front of her, she repeated, "Contract."

"Right. Some kind of contract for a servant. A-- a ghoul," Amata said the word with clear unease, "your father says. They want it."

Taking a deep breath, Honor said, "When you say 'it,' you better be referring to the contract." She retrieved a gun from the locker along with a box of ammo. It took everything she had to stay cool, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the seated women-- her friends-- watching her like Simms used to eye the bomb in the crater. She crossed back to Amata and handed her the pistol.

"What's this?" Amata asked, taking it like it was a dead bloatfly.

"It's my best pistol. It's a scoped .44 magnum-- it's basically a cannon that fits in your hand. Its scope is as good as most sniper rifles'. Your aim doesn't have to be great with something that size to stop your target-- just hit them somewhere and they'll drop, or wish they could." She handed her the box of ammo. "That should be enough to get you in and out of wherever you need to go."

"Go for what?" Amata shook her head, her distress overwhelming. "I don't understand. They said to come unarmed, or else they'll kill him! I'm just supposed to bring the contract."

Honor kept her gaze fixed on the floor. "I'm sorry, Amata. That's the best I can do for you."

"But what about the contract?" Butch demanded.

Honor met his eyes, unflinching. "I'm not giving it to you."

"Honey--"

"What the fuck-- this is Freddie we're talkin' about!"

Amata looked stricken. "But-- you said you didn't hold it against me, that you understood!"

Honor stared at her. "That has nothing to do with this. I can't give you Charon's contract."

"Charon?" Amata repeated. "That's its name?"

Honor felt her stomach flip. After a few false starts at trying to find a civil response, she managed, "You're new out here, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt on this. But if I _ever_ hear you refer to a ghoul-- particularly Charon-- or Gob-- as 'it' again, I will shoot you myself." She visibly brought herself under control again. "I wish you luck, Amata, I really do. But that's all the help you're getting from me."

"Honor--" James began.

She continued speaking to Amata, but she faced her father as she said, "And you're lucky to get it."

Amata just continued to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How am I supposed to rescue Freddie with this? I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how--"

"It's better than I had to start," Honor reminded her. "I got put out into the wasteland with a .10mm pistol piece of shit, a _BB gun_ , and a fucking _baseball bat."_

"At least you knew how to shoot!" Butch yelled.

"Yeah," Honor retorted, "and you know how to run your mouth and pretend to be a tough guy-- you're so concerned, go pretend at whoever's got Freddie. _You_ get him back."

Amata seemed to calm a bit and Honor straightened. She recognized the haunted look in her eyes and the eerie calm that seemed to settle in them; Amata held her eyes wide as if still in a complete panic, but her voice calmed immeasurably. Honor knew what that signified. She'd been there herself, too many times. _And that,_ she thought to herself, _is why they're not getting anywhere near his contract._ "Is this really it? This is all you're going to do to 'help' me? To help Freddie?"

Honor nodded.

"It's just a piece of paper. Is it really worth Freddie's life?"

"It's not just a piece of paper-- it's a contract binding Charon to whoever holds it. They'd--" She shook her head. "Well, they'd damn near own him." She set her mouth in a thin line. "You're not getting it."

Amata nodded as if to herself. "And this ghoul, this-- Charon-- is worth Freddie's life?"

Honor squared her shoulders and clasped her hands behind her back. "Yes. To me, he is." She thought half a second, then added, "Actually, as far as value to the world, he's worth it, too."

Amata didn't seem to hear anything after her agreement. "Then I'm sorry, Honor. I didn't think I'd have to do it like this, but you aren't giving me a choice." She raised her head and the .44 at the same time, training the latter on Honor's face. "I love Freddie too much to let you consign him to death. Give me that contract, Honor."

Honor sighed. "First of all, I wouldn't care if you killed me; I still wouldn't hand over Charon's life and well-being to you. Second, I'm not so stupid as to keep something that important here." She turned her back on them and walked away. "Third, I don't keep loaded weapons just sitting around in lockers." She stopped when she got to the table where Sydney and Reilly were on the edge of their chairs, ready to intervene if Honor needed. "Get out, the three of you. You aren't welcome here."

In her peripheral vision she saw her father step forward to argue, but Wadsworth had heard her last sentence and came whooshing down the stairs. "Trespassers," he declared, "will be dealt with. Please vacate the premises before I call the Major." He waved his saw blade at them in what Honor conceded was a threatening manner. After seeing what Andy could do with one of the things accidentally, she sure as hell wouldn't want to cross a robot as competent as Wadsworth.

James just couldn't leave quietly, though. "Honoria, honey, please reconsider. Freddie is the love of Amata's life, as your mother was to me. Can you really do this to them for--" He broke off as Honor spun on him, but finished, "for that mercenary _ghoul?"_

Honor felt tears well even as a laugh bubbled in her throat. "Are you kidding me?" She searched his eyes, trying, desperately, to find some hint there that he understood what Charon was...what he meant to her. She found nothing but his confusion that she would let an old friend die to protect a ghoul. A monster. "Love of her life. Like you had with mother. And yet you stand here looking at me like you could never understand me in a million years, understand why I'm protecting him." She saw, at last, light beginning to dawn in his eyes, but she closed hers against it. "Leave. Get out. _Now."_ She felt her shoulders tremble; she was close to breaking down, and damned if she wanted these-- these _strangers_ \-- to see her do it. But her gratitude toward her true friends swelled up against the tears when she heard chairs scraping the floor behind her; Sydney, Reilly, and Sarah had stood and-- from the sounds of metal against leather and nylon-- drawn weapons.

"You heard her," Sarah barked in her best "Pride" voice. "Walk out or get carried out. Your choice."

Honor heard the footsteps, the door open and close, and then arms were around her and she was crying on someone's shoulder. She didn't know whose-- Moira's, she would learn later-- and it seemed to take hours before she could stem her tears. Her friends settled her back in her chair with a drink and a package of Fancy Lads-- their comfort food of choice-- and let her vent, spilling her frustrations about her father and childhood friend and the unfairness of the wasteland until she felt hollow inside.

And then, at last, she raged. The other women, dear friends that they were, agreed with every word, and let her ramble until the front door opened and Charon came home. Dogmeat ran to her immediately, whining and bumping her hand with his head, and she could tell from Charon's expression-- reserved though it was, as always-- that he knew something was wrong. He wouldn't ask, she knew, but he lowered his brows and stared at her in a way that was far more pressing than a question. She didn't tell him, not quite everything, not that they'd wanted _him_ but that they'd demanded the impossible, and what Amata had done when she refused, how her father had betrayed her in favor of Amata's selfishness and bigotry, and managed at the end, when describing Wadsworth's gallantry, to even find a small, sad smile at the thought of the Mister Handy riding to the rescue like the hero of a holotape cliffhanger.

At the end of it all, Charon nodded sagely, and Honor thought a bit sadly. She wouldn't be at all surprised, she reflected, if he knew exactly what they had demanded of her. Ahzrukhal had told her it would be a mistake to interpret Charon's silence as stupidity, and she imagined the bastard had never spoken truer words.

He confirmed her suspicion later in the evening when, after the others had gone home and she was getting ready to head upstairs to bed, he stopped her with a quiet question.

"Did you really threaten the doctor who treated us?"

She stopped at the base of the steps. "Yeah, I did. Why?"

"What if he had not complied with your wishes?"

"I'd have shot him."

"Without provocation?"

She grinned. "Oh, he was provoking me, all right." She came to stand in front of him. "Where is this coming from, Charon?"

He scowled. "I am trying to understand...our situation...better. You would truly have killed an unarmed man over me?"

"Don't you have any idea how terrified I was of losing you?"

He frowned. "I know. I just don't know why."

She looked suddenly angry, but abruptly she sagged, the anger and frustration draining out, draining her. She turned her eyes to the floor. "I-- I care about you, Charon."

His jaw clenched. Words crowded up behind his tongue-- _and I care about you, for you, I love you_ \-- and he dared not open his mouth for fear of them escaping.

She turned her face up to his, her eyes wide and shining, her cheeks pale; no longer furious, but frightened. "Do you-- do you care about me? Or am I just...just another employer to you?"

God, how he wanted to hide behind that little slip of paper right now, that all-important, all-overriding contract, the damn thing that both bound him to her and held him away from her. He hated her direct questions. He hated the mental programming that owned him, and he hated the people who had done this to him. To them. He hated himself for not being the man she deserved.

But, try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to hate her. Not for the questions she posed, nor the dilemma, not the fear nor the fury nor the adoration in her eyes. None of this was her fault, none of it, and he wouldn't risk her for his own selfishness. She was.... "You are my employer. It is my job to keep you safe. However...."

Her tears had started to fall at his first words, but she hung on the last.

"...I would personally be very unhappy if anything untoward were to befall you."

Slowly, she started to smile, and at last even laughed a little. She dipped her head. "Thank you. Charon."

His fingers twitched, wanting to stroke her hair of their own accord, to pull her close, to comfort her. But then the moment was over, the opportunity gone, as she turned on her heel and headed up the stairs, two at a time. He stood there a long while after, after she'd gone to bed and fallen asleep. Perhaps, some years from now when she was older and had more experience of the world, they might speak of this again. Perhaps then, the outcome could be different, if he could be sure that she really understood what it would mean for her to be emotionally involved with a ghoul, if she could come to trust that his obedience, his devotion, had nothing to do with any slip of paper. Perhaps someday.

Not today.

But someday.


End file.
